


Plenty of Time

by wastefulreverie



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Decapitation, Dissection, Gen, Horror, Suspense, Torture, Vivisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 05:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastefulreverie/pseuds/wastefulreverie
Summary: When Danny Fenton supposedly runs away, Casper High has quite a few things to say when he returns. Especially in the wake of his apparent "trauma".





	Plenty of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RainbowDiamonds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowDiamonds/gifts).



Mr. Lancer's English class. Tuesday, 10/12/--. 1:27 PM. Or, at least that's what the clock on the wall said, but nobody went by the classroom clock – it always ran seven minutes slow. No matter how many times they reset it, it always came back to those seven minutes. So, they just let it go – it wasn't like they needed the classroom clock. Mr. Lancer's class was still going to be severely tedious either way.

“-mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in...” as Mr. Lancer read, only a handful of students followed him across the paper. A single student kicked his knee against the bottom of his desk and stood, unsettled. And he fled from the classroom, there was a spark of panic in his expression. Not many noticed, and none stopped him...

“...they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a _long satisfying drink_.”

* * *

 

Mr. Falluca's Chemistry class. Thursday, 10/21/--. 7:47 AM. It was a typical morning; jocks sliding into their seats moments after the tardy bell, nerds communing over homework, sneaky kids hiding their phones in their laps.... Although, there was something... _off_. Maybe it was that Manson pulled Foley aside and cried (cried, _cried_ ), awkward hands wrapping around each other as they comforted themselves. Maybe it was the screenshot that Roberts passed around, a text from his mom – who worked in the Emergency Room – that claimed that a critically injured teenager had been admitted. 

Or maybe it was Gray's quiet declaration “he's been found...” that drew everyone's attention. But it didn't draw their empathy; after all, who felt sorry for a runaway?

* * *

Main Hallway. Wednesday, 10/27/--. 7:12 AM. Not many people arrived early to school, except for the bus-riders. And traditionally, bus-riders tended to be underclassmen – so a reasonable portion of the Freshman class was already at school when a familiar boy slipped into the hallway, guided by a weary red-headed girl.

To no one's surprise, Danny looked like he wanted to run again, curling into his pink turtleneck. He was gaunt and irritated, pale as a sheet and distant – like not all of him had come back. He absently scratched at his wrists and locked eyes with Jazz, pleading to leave. She frowned and sighed, lecturing him about scratching his injuries. He scowled and crossed his arms, shoving his hands into his armpits so that he wouldn't be tempted to scratch.

It was almost pitiful.  _Almost_ .

“He's finally back!” Tucker clapped, teasing his friend. His announcement attracted a few stray stares, but he, Danny, and Jazz ignored them. Danny deadpanned at his friend's antics and swatted Tucker away.

“I don't think he wanted a formal welcome,” Jazz informed Tucker. Danny nodded in agreement, brushing off exactly how many people were staring at him.

_“I bet his disappearance was linked to Phantom's,”_ a girl whispered into her friend's shoulder. 

The other girl sniggered and replied, “ _As if_ .”

“So...” Tucker waved his hand in front of Danny, reeling him back into focus, “Do you want to go hide in the library and catch up on notes? I know I brought some to your house but I managed to find some more last night.”

Once again, Danny nodded. Jazz traded Danny into Tucker's care and watched them ramble toward the library. She only stayed behind for a moment, carefully watching Danny's steps.  _Right, left, right, pause... and left._

A tall boy in a green sweatshirt approached her. “He looks so defeated,” he assessed.

Jazz pursed her lips. “ _I know._ ” 

* * *

Ms. Capra's Government class. Wednesday, 10/27/--. 9:03 AM. At Sam's insistence, Danny sat at the front of the classroom. It gave the rest of the class a good vantage of their peer, much to his obvious displeasure. He spent a considerable amount of time fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater, clenching and unclenching his fists, and tapping his foot against the floor.

When Ms. Capra handed out worksheets, he just stared at the paper, losing himself in it. For a moment, it was like he wasn't even there. Like he was just an echo blurring at the edges and fading into nothing... and then Tucker coughed, and Danny snapped back, like a rubber band. He found his pencil and began to doodle stars at the top of his paper, disregarding the questions.

“He looks like a _ghost_ ,” Mikey pointed out. “Are we sure that he really ran away?”

“Fenton? Have you seen him, of course he did,” Nathan scoffed.

“I don't know...” a third boy butted in, “something's wrong with him. He looks even skinnier than before.”

“Well  _duh_ , he was out starving somewhere....”

“Why do you guys even care about that loser?” a nearby blonde girl snorted. “He's just asking for  _attention_ .”

“ _True,_ ” they chorused.

And the bell rang, signifying their release. Danny wasted no time gathering his belongings and limping to his next class, leaning on his friends for support.

_Asking for attention... asking for it...._

* * *

Cafeteria. Wednesday, 10/27/--. 12:24 PM. Lunch was usually a time to mentally relax, to breathe. To shrug off the stress of class after class and to chat with friends. And for many, lunch was also the peak time to exchange gossip. And today's topic? Well... it wasn't that difficult to guess. Bashing on the traumatized runaway was always a welcome discussion.

“He's got to be hiding something,” Star determined, peeking behind her carton of milk to subtly stare at Danny. “Look at him! It looks like he's sitting on something sharp, he keeps squirming. Tell me  _that_ isn't suspicious.”

“Yeah,” Dash laughed, “I wouldn't be surprised if there was something stuck up his ass.”

Star gave him a nasty look and swiftly elbowed his rib. “You know that's not what I meant. It's like...” she raised a hand to her chin and thought. “I can't think of the word.”

“I don't know about you guys,” Kelsey – another A-Lister – interrupted, “But I can't believe that he's back again. He's so _dramatic!_ ” She crossed her arms. “Cry me a fucking river.”

“He was always an attention seeker,” Paulina agreed, “but I feel like Star's right. There's something more... nobody knows where he even was! Mama said that in the hospital he wouldn't tell his parents anything. She was his nurse, you know? And... I wonder: where was he? After all, he just _left_.”

“Does it matter?” Kelsey groaned.

“Not really,” Paulina shrugged. “I just want to know what fucked him up that badly. It's entertaining.”

“That's what he wants, though! He wants your attention! Insecure bastard.”

“I'm not so sure...” Star pondered. “It actually looks like he's avoiding people. Look now, Val's walking over to him....”

The A-List addressed their attention to Valerie. Nobody really saw her eat in the cafeteria anymore, as cliché as it was most people figured that she ate in the bathroom... or possibly the roof. Ever since she lost her money, Valerie was just  _weird_ like that. And now she was approaching the talk of the school with no qualms, confidently crossing the threshold of screaming adolescents with a determined demeanor.

She rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and stopped in front of Danny's table, standing behind Tucker. Sam was immersed in some kind of whisper-lecture and Danny looked like he was about to fall asleep. Valerie coughed, attracting the trio's attention. “Danny?” she asked.

Danny shot up as if someone had stuck him with a hot poker. He gaped at Valerie for a moment before shutting his mouth and turning to Sam instead. Sam looked between her former rival and Danny, squeezed Danny's hand, and exhaled, “What is it, Gray?”

Valerie drew her eyebrows together. “I was speaking to  _Danny_ ,” she stressed.

“Okay. What is it?” Sam repeated. When Valerie continued to stare, Danny met her eyes and flinched under her scrutiny. After another moment or so, Valerie broke the tension and sat beside Tucker.

“I was just wondering where you've been,” she spoke carefully. “We're all worried,” she added.

“Sure,” Tucker rolled his eyes. “' _Worried_ '. Like everyone isn't talking shit about him. We're not  _stupid_ , Val.”

Sam smacked him. “It's like there's something in your head telling you exactly what you shouldn't say and then you do it anyway,” she hissed.

Tucker shrugged. “You cracked it; I'm a simple machine.”

“I'm waiting for an answer,” Valerie interrupted, turning back to Danny.

“Why?” Sam asked. “So you can feed the rumor mill? Where he's been is Danny's business and we really can't afford any more attention.” Sam placed her hand on the table, “Get lost, Gray.”

Valerie ignored her, focusing on Danny. “Why won't you talk to me?”

She was met with another blank stare, misted eyes and clenched fists. When he still refused to respond, Valerie's patience was beyond thin. She huffed and stood up from the table. “ _Fine_ ,” she spat, “be that way! I'm  _sorry_ you're asking for this attention.” And with that, she spun on her heels and exited the cafeteria, letting the door slam behind her.

Danny's hands shook, quivering like leaves fighting the fall breeze. He bit his lip and shoved his hands into his pockets, praying that no one saw. He knew that hope was in vain but deceived himself anyway.

What had he been asking for? Why did they keep saying that? That he had been  _asking_ for it? Asking for attention...  _asking, asking, asking_ ....

* * *

Unknown location. Friday, 10/15/--. 9:51 PM. The lights swung, like stars moving across the horizon. If it wasn't for the bonds on his wrists, it would almost be peaceful – but since he had been captured three days ago, nothing had been peaceful. He fought and fought and fought... to no avail. Would he ever escape? Three days already felt like an eternity, he couldn't imagine even another week of this....

“Let me go,” he complained, for about the seventh time that hour. “I'm just a regular ghost, I don't know what you guys are looking for!”

“No... you're something special alright,” Agent G's smile  _curled_ . He tightened Danny's straps, likely just to assert dominance. Out of Agents F, L, and V Danny hated Agent G the most. Something in him was just...  _hungry_ – he wasn't afraid to break procedure to implement his twisted sense of authority.

“No, I'm not!” Danny protested, kicking against him. If they were going to slice him up, he at least was going to fight back.

“Oh, you're  _asking for it_ ,” Agent G laughed. “Quiet, ghost! Or else!”

He was having fun with this... sick son of a bitch-

“You try being quiet while you're strapped to a table,” Danny hissed. “I said  _let me go_ !”

“I think not,” Agent G grabbed Danny's wrist and started twisting it. “One more little peep out of you and I'll silence you myself, don't test me.”

“Fuck. you,” Danny grit out. He didn't want to be gagged again, but he couldn't let this bastard get the last word-

“Oh ho ho,” Agent G snapped his wrist back, breaking it clean. For a moment all Danny could see was red, but he bit back a scream. “So that's your choice? Okay then, no more talking for you,  _little ghost_ .”

Agent G moved away for a moment, leaving Danny with an aching wrist. He ground his teeth together, trying to ignore the fire in his hand with little success. The swinging lights were making him dizzy now, so Danny shut his eyes. He must've drifted off for a moment despite the pain (three days of dehydration would do that) because when he awoke, Agent G was positioning a saw over his neck.

“-only need the body. We'll preserve the head for now, ghosts can reattach body parts like nothing so it's not permanent. But I just can't  _deal_ with that thing talking all the time – easy solution, right?”

Wh –  _at._

Was he.

Oh God.

No no no.

SHIT.

“Y – you can't-”

Holy shit they were going to decapitate him. They were going to. DECAPITATE. him. What the FUCK – no n _o no no no nO NO-_

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Yeah, it's Friday night. I say fuck it!  _Slice it off._ ”

He couldn't let them do this, couldn't let them, couldn't-

Danny started thrashing, doing whatever he could to avoid the saw. Though, in his attempts, he banged his wrist against the table and was greeted with  _twice_ the pain. This time he couldn't help but cry out, and his hesitation was condemning. His lapse in movement gave Agent G enough time to reposition the saw over his neck and slide it down. The teeth of the saw tore into Danny's flesh (gushing, ripping, pre _ssing, pulliNG!_ ) and then everything went dark. 

The world was murky, pulsing. And he was slipping, falling – nonexistent? Where was he, what and where was his physical presence? … did what he thought happened just happen? Was he – decapit-

_Please, no._

Gloved hands pressed against somewhere. His entire body felt foreign like he was in two places at once. Was he still himself? Or was he two chunks of halfa – a brain and a body, separated? Cut off at the throat? The gloved hands replied and pulled his head from his stumped neck, cutting the skin that still attached his body and head.

“...and he's finally silenced!” Agent G announced. The other Agents cheered, applauding their success. “Now, who has the key to the freezer?”

He longed to scream, to protest. Though, all he could manage was a slight twitch of his foot (useless foot!). They carried him under their arm, like the world's grossest football, and placed him on a shelf facing the freezer door. Not long after the deadlock clicked, he felt their first incision. And he sobbed into the shelf, wishing he was anywhere else, as they tore him apart in the other room.

* * *

Casper High parking lot. Wednesday, 10/27/--. 3:02 PM. Jazz didn't expect to find Danny waiting at her car, but when she saw him across the parking lot she subconsciously rushed her walk. Once again, he was scratching at his wrists, struggling to ignore the itch of his injuries. She sent him a cold glare but he never received it – he was too busy staring at the asphalt. She groaned and damned the length of the parking lot, wishing that she had reserved a closer parking space.

Other students stood by their vehicles, laughing and pushing at each other without a care in the world. She passed a group of Sophomore girls leaning on a blue Toyota and happened to hear a snippet of conversation... “What's up with Fenton? He's been so quiet.”

A snarky laugh. “ _Freak._ I heard a rumor that he's gone mute.”

“Dash said it was because he was sold into sex trafficking.”

“Ha! Dash is an idiot...”

Jazz could think of a plethora of words that she could respond to that with but decided they weren't worth her time. They were just... mean girls that didn't know what they were talking about. They didn't know _anything_ about her brother and they were _rude_. That's all they were... they don't deserve her time....

And Danny was still scratching at his wrists. He needed to stop doing that.

“Hey!” she called out, confident that she was in earshot. “Stop it.”

Danny looked up, emulating a deer in headlights. He hid his wrists behind his back and blushed. He mouthed, 'Sorry', and slumped against her car.

Now five feet away, she rolled her eyes and closed the gap between them. Jazz ruffled his hair and opened the passenger seat for him, “In.” At her instruction, he shed his backpack and maneuvered himself into the car. She slipped into the driver's seat and started the vehicle, smoothly pulling out of the parking lot.

As she drove, Jazz watched Danny out of the corner of her eye. He was tense, unsettled. She expected that – anyone in his position would be. After a minute or so, he started fidgeting with the A/C, even though it was well into October....

“You know if that sweater's too hot you can take it off,” she suggested. It was actually her sweater; between the two of them, she was the only one who owned turtlenecks. “You don't have to hide it from me.”

He shot her another look of irritation (he'd been doing that a lot lately) and groaned. He unbuckled his seat-belt and pulled the sweater over his head, balling it up in his lap. The look he gave her said, 'Are you impressed, now?' She brushed it off. Danny's scar didn't trouble her as much as it had a few days ago; at least now it was starting to heal.

Before it had been a deep brown curve across his neck – now, it had faded into a pink line that wrapped around his throat like a ribbon. Their parents had deduced that it would fully fade in a month, much to Danny's relief – but his voice would take longer to return (if at all). At the moment, Danny could make a few squealing noises, but that was it. At the worst, they were considering investing in one of those artificial larynx aids.

She sensed that Danny was still feeling bad about everything. The reveal with Mom and Dad, everyone's bullshit opinion of him at school, his  _time_ with the government.... There was so much Jazz wanted to talk with him about, but it was so difficult to have a therapy session with someone who couldn't respond. So, until he could talk back to her she would just have to give him pieces of encouragement, positive advice!

“I know everything seemed pretty miserable today,” she acknowledged. He didn't look up from his lap, but she continued. “All those people talking about you, saying all those stupid –  _very_ stupid – things... they'll move on. This is the worst it will get – from here, people will pay less and less attention to you. I guarantee.”

He nodded absently and slipped back into his own head. Well, Jazz tried. And for now, that's all anyone could do – offer to reach out and give it time. Because at this point, they needed lots of it. The peanut gallery could say their bit and talk shit about her brother, they didn't matter. Danny's progression, his physical and mental healing, was inevitable.

Because he had plenty of time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> “His mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.” - William Golding, Lord of the Flies
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://wastefulreverie.tumblr.com/)!


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